


Of What's Left

by Welcometopandora



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Zombie Apocalypse, a decent amount of banter, parent fodder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-02-04 11:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18603700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Welcometopandora/pseuds/Welcometopandora
Summary: Rumors were spreading about a new illness cropping up in the neighbouring towns and cities. Something vicious and primal, said to drive men mad and raise the dead.It was only a matter of time before it reached the sleepy streets of lazytown.A Zombie AU led by prompts





	1. Prelude

Can't believe I'm writing horror for this fandom but fuck it- do what you enjoy I suppose.  
  
Zombie shorts- directed by prompts  
  
  
Quick pointless note- if you take a good look at the birdseye of LT that shows up in the intro there's actually a good number of houses (I counted over 40) Just explaining my logic early on since I needed cannon fodder and 'parents'

 

* * *

  
  
  
**Prelude**  
  
Tuesday, 10:53pm

  
  
Lazy town, clue being in name and outlandishly remote placement, was in no way a bustling place to live. Yet gathering up the entire towns worth of residents still resulted in a alarming headcount of people.  
  
A further challenge was then herding them, a total of over sixty nervous, agitated adults, into the town hall on short notice.  
  
One hour short notice.  
  
The hall itself was never equipped to handle such a large amount of people, so a surprise to none that the chairs had vanished quickly.  
  
Of what was available placed out unnervingly akin to a school assembly. In what must have been originally organised into neat rows of six each side of small middle aisle, was now broken lines and populated, crowded chaos after an initial two. The elderly of the town populated the order, sat patiently with little fuss as the remaining chairs were moved about by picky adults.  
  
Not much ever happens within lazytown, and what does is passed over by most as purely exaggerated stories of a feud between the town recluse and hero, recited by imaginative kids to uninterested parents.  
  
Nothing worth talking about for longer than a day, even within the smaller group of gossip hounds.  
  
So even a brief muttering of trouble, something significant enough for news to reach the sleepy town, and depending on who you were, was worth getting excited or scared over.  
  
There was a mixture of nervous and excitable energy, a thick atmosphere of confusion ready for the right spark of fear, and with the kids home safe, as by firm instruction, the adults voiced their speculation freely.  
  
Parents and adults alike, gathered around in their clicks, chattering in varied volumes. None of which acceptable levels to the tall man who tucked himself at the back, the wall doing it's part at keeping him upright.  
  
Close enough to the exit for a hasty retreat but far enough to escape the newcomers and chill.  
  
The place was a buzz of white noise. A swirling din of conversations fighting for dominance. Robbie could swear his name was floating over the din on occasion, not that he bothered scan the room to confirm.  
  
He had his suspicions.  
  
They were probably blaming him for this sudden 'emergency' meeting. Short and simple. Small town side effects. If they had nothing better to do with their time then who was he to intercede.  
  
Robbie took notice as a few too many heads in the crowd spun to the entrance, multiple looks of admiration, men and women, chasing a figure moving along the back wall; a herald of Sportacus's approach before the blue in his peripheral.  
  
"Glad you decided to come, Robbie"  
  
Not that he was normally considerate of personal space, the noise _forced_ the elf to crowd closer to the man to be heard. Closer than most were normally tolerated, and he made no move to step back after the greeting.  
  
The taller only rolled his eyes.  
  
"You say that like you weren't the one to practically drag me out here" Robbie turned to grimace at the man's enthusiasm, as norm, but the expected smile was barely there. Just a upturn of lips that didn't quite reach his eyes.  
  
Sportacus sighed, the question hanging in the air.  
  
"I haven't been told anything, just have ....a bad feeling"  
  
He turned his attention back to the hall, noticing a group of women towards the middle were beckoning him over. Sportacus gave a curt wave in return, and Robbie pretended to miss their pointed glares at himself when the blue menace stayed put.  
  
Like he was holding their hero hostage by mere presence. Or worse, the hero was babysitting him, making sure there'd be no trouble.  
  
"Not that I'm complaining, but it's strange not seeing the brats"  
  
"It's late. The mayor didn't want to cause more trouble than needed"  
  
"Or scare them" Robbie shrugged. It was a offhanded remark, he almost felt guilty at how it made the other flinch.  
  
The mayor bustled onto the stage, dabbing away at his brow with the third handkerchief of the night. Mrs Busybody followed closely, finding something to do with the stack of papers she carried while the mayor settled himself behind the podium.  
  
The heavyset man spoke quickly, floundering his way through greeting and extending thanks to those in attendance.  
  
Robbie hadn't realised he'd spaced till a symphony of chairs squeaks and shuffles punctuated the rooms sudden attention shift, his head snapped up to find everyone's focus on a man in the crowd.  
  
"A businessman who frequented the neighbouring city for work" the mayor offered from onstage  
  
The man curled in on himself, sweating under the attention but the woman at his arm, someone Robbie recognised as one of the gossip harpies, eagerly took the opportunity to practically leap up and address the hungry crowd.  
  
'My husband was attacked on his commute home" the woman chirped, a little too happily considering. Projecting her voice over the man onstage, who had only just realised he'd lost control.  
  
The woman gave a flourish "You've heard the rumours! And my poor Gerald was victim to that madness, some nutjob acting like a wild animal! They had to put him down like one too and- "  
  
The man convulsed, his seat rattling. Then stopped. Sat ramrod straight and, with disturbing force, vomited a sheet of red.  
  
There was a flurry of movement.  
  
Those left in rows ahead of the man jumped up, chairs and people tangling at the proximity. The few unlucky splashzone victims made their distress known.  
  
Sportacus rushed forward, weaving the crowd. He didn't register the outside noise, nor activity; his mind counting off possible diagnoses to calm his nerves.  
  
He volted a chair, and another, springing himself into the clearing around the target, shoes kicking up a small splash of crimson on landing.  
  
Besides standard first aid the hero was at a loss, and that colour was far from standard fair.  
  
The man was doubled over, forehead resting against the backrest of the abandoned chair ahead. From a distance the sweat was obvious, but close up he looked to have just walked in from a summer shower.  
  
Sportacus carefully put a hand on the man's shoulder, grimacing at the sheer heat. Alarming still he could also feel, see and hear the man's inhumanly fast, rattling pants. Rapid, strained wheezes that shook his frame less and less until they abruptly stopped.  
  
Everything was happening at once, blurring together. Heartbeat in his ears, Sportacus's had the man's limp arm in frantic search of the pulsepoint.  
  
He came face to face as man's head shot up, pupils blown and wild. Overcast and staring through rather than seeing. Sportacus was trapped in the abys, unaware of the others lips pulling back in a bloodied snarl.  
  
The creature was spun around and into the arms of the woman Sportacus had forgotten existed.  
  
She howled in relief, makeup streaking.  
  
The creature growled and clawed at his wife's shirt, the other hand tangling in her hair, the room silent as he wrenched her down, teeth meeting her throat and drowning the scream.

 

* * *

 

> This series is going to be led by prompts- of which I'm happy to accept. I'll -attempt- a solid continuity, with anything that breaks the rule considered a standalone.
> 
> Thanks for reading~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series is going to be led by prompts- of which I'm happy to accept. I'll -attempt- a solid continuity, with anything that breaks the rule considered a standalone.
> 
> Thanks for reading~


	2. Escape

 

**Lightshow**

 

 

At the soft click of the front door closing Trixie was out of bed; like a bad action star, tuck and rolling from the covers and onto the carpeted floor with a muted thump. An equally clumsy rollypolly and she was crouched under her bedroom window. Back against the wall, mischievous grin on her face. She waited, counted to five, then eased herself up to peek between the drawn curtains. 

 

On the street, for a moment, she caught the retreating outline of her mother; arms wrapped around her middle from the chill, scarf catching in the autumn wind, trailing behind like a gaudy yellow tail as she passed under the streetlamp and vanished around the corner.

 

Trixie beamed.  

 

She'd been granted free reign for an hour or so and didn't plan on wasting it. She spun from the window, a step away when she paused, realising something caught her eye in the last second. 

 

Something in the sky. 

 

She opened the curtain a little further and pressed her face to the window, squinting at the darkness. She realised then, high above the centre of town, above the townhall, Sportacus' airship. It's large shape obscured in the overcast darkness, but at the bottom, a window she guessed, a small flickering of multicolour light shone out.

 

Sportacus was either having a late night disco or something was triggering his crystal. The outlandish thought of the former made her smile against the worry of the latter. That and she knew the hero better, knew it wouldn't be long till a winding ladder or blue and white blur would drop down from the sky.

 

Dependable Sportacus

 

She watched diligently. Nothing. And the crystal still flashed.

 

A pit had settled in her stomach and it insisted something wasn't right. She glanced across the room, to the red numbers of the digital alarm beside her bed. It was late, way late. 

 

There was a meeting going on in the town hall. Trixie's mother hadn't shared much more as she hurried about -and between pleas of 'just please Trixie stay in bed'. No more than 'it's important'. That the knock at the door half hour prior, the worried voice of their neighbour relaying a message that didn't quite reach Trixie where she crouched on the upstairs landing, crept there to investigate the hushed conversation having been very much awake and in the middle of cursing the coming school day.

 

Time ticked on and there was still no sign of the hero. Sure he had a strict bedtime but wouldn't Sportacus be in attendance to an 'important' meeting? 

 

Was he there? But he was never seen without his crystal. Was he sleeping through the warning? He had always woken up before, she was living testament to that; having once snuck out only be found by a tired looking sportacus who'd been alerted by her mothers panic at finding an empty bed.

 

There was also that time Robbie almost blew himself up in the early hours, a blimp flying over the town not long after; relayed the next morning by a disgruntled but better slept pixel who'd been mid game when his high score vanished with the power.

 

Had something happened, didn't anyone know. Was the meeting about the hero?

 

Trixie worried her lip as her mind ran. But then she furrowed her brow, slammed her hands down on the windowsill, cause, hey, she had every right to know what was going on. 

 

She tore out bedroom and across the landing, taking the stairs in twos, swinging around and over the banister just before the last three steps in practised ease. The boost landed her midway to the front door.

 

She rushed on her outdoor coat. The buttons only gave her trouble for half a minute- and it had nothing to do with panic.

 

Nope. Trixie was completely level headed.

 

When she turned her startled reflection stared back in the hallway mirror, she stuck out her tongue and pulled a scowl, stooping to pull on her shoes. 

 

She wasn't scared.

 

She was worried. 

 

She was a girl of action.

 

She stepped out into the garden, closed the door with more care than needed, and took off in a light jog

 

Lazytown wasn't a big place, and the troubleby's sat a easy street and half away from the town hall. Just a single street if she hurdled a fence once the hall's roof peeked above the rest, and cut across a garden further down. 

 

It meant kicking up some petunias but trixie wasn't overly fond of the owner so it was just a bonus, and she was almost getting it down to an art.

 

Heavy thumps. Flats on concrete. Someone, no multiple figures were running down the road towards the house. 

 

Trixie panicked

 

Out of reflex she ducked out of sight, pushing herself into the shrubbery lining the path. Wishing the rustling leaves quiet as two figures bolted past not a second later. Then another, and another. Their footsteps thunderous compared to the first, breaths ragged and panting in growls.

 

She realised then these people weren't jogging, they were sprinting. In fact running like their life depended.

 

Ice ran down her spine, colder than the dew seeping into her coat and the knees of her jeans. She was numb to the cold, to the twigs snagging her hair as she flattened to the ground, catching her fear in the crook of her arm. 

 

One of the figures, a taller shadow, grabbed a fistful of the shorter's coat, hooked their leg and sent them staggering; and both passed under a lamplight, human for a moment. The taller, she glanced, a sharp navy coat, fur collar. The other stumbled to the ground, just past the cone of light, familiar gaudy scarf catching the light.

 

In the next second both pursuers bore down on the fallen.

 

 

 

**Fear**

 

 

The room was shocked still. Silence with the obscene undercurrent of shredding gore.

 

Then a scream, screams- and the hall awoke in a explosion of movement.

 

The creatures reaction was simultaneous, and with a inhuman cry, it threw itself into the crowd; passing the still crouched, stock still Sportacus, who hadn't time to react when a movement stopped him dead. 

 

He felt distant, fuzzy at the edges, like looking in on himself on a bad signal. What he was seeing couldn't be real. The woman, on her side away from the hero, bloodied and very much dead, twitched. 

 

A small shudder, stronger than any residual muscle tension. The movement of her shoulder, her arm, then a spasm between her shoulders that threw her back; her legs twitched, back arching and chest heaving as she convulsed in the same way as her husband.

 

The woman twisted wildly and lurched herself upright; bloodstained and glassy eyed. The wound on her neck gave a thick garble, honey like globs of red escaping as the muscles visible through the shredded flesh tensed and stretched with her wet snarls.

 

Her attention snapped to the closest movement and she was off, clambering over seats. 

 

Sportacus watched her go.

 

The room came into focus then, all at once. And Sportacus found himself momentarily believing, hoping, he was just reliving the memory, caught in the shock. That people weren't dying. That the dead weren't rising. But he was stood, facing the room.

 

Witnessing the impossible 

 

One second they were down. Then suddenly back in their feet, fury contorting their face and movements, throwing themselves bodily into the crowd. One had become two, two then four, and now there was hardly a distinction between the violence in the dense crowd.

 

The crowd was easy pickings. One way traffic corralled in a single minded pack toward the exit doors. A stampede of blind panic.

 

A few had escaped. But the rest.

 

Screams of help. Too many at once, from all directions. Sportacus spun to face one of many, head snapping to the call of another, taking a step toward the scream of a third and across the room, framed in a red, he met the dimming eyes of another; his name of their lips, hand outstretched and reaching. 

 

He felt sick. The world tilting and bright from the unspent adrenaline.

 

A hand grabbed his shoulder. 

 

Sportacus' heart clawed up in his throat. He reached back and snapped the offender forward by the wrist, throwing them clear over his shoulder and all too late catching a glimpse of purple.

 

Robbie. 

 

His breath left him. A bucket of cold water over the fear.

 

The hero could only watch as the man bounced from the impact, hitting the seats of the chairs first, with the momentum carrying him to the floor. For a long moment he laid there, winded and staring in wide eyed surprise, nailing sportacus to the spot in his grief; but then Robbie had pushed himself up to his knees, jerking forward with a hiss, folding over the arm held at his chest, clasping at the air over his left shoulder. 

 

He could handle this. Block out the noise, the rising panic and let his instincts focus on one thing at a time.

 

Sportacus crouched down quickly. Without looking. Seeing the man flinch away now would cut deeper than ever before. He gave no warning as he quickly, gingerly, eased his grip under the others favoured side and hauled the man to his feet.

 

Surprised when Robbie grabbed his wrist and began moving. He couldn't not notice how the villains right arm was cradled, his gait stiffer, that-

 

It wasn't making him feel better, but the villain was something to focus on.

 

Five steps in and a scream snapped his attention, would have stopped him, spun him, but the hand on his wrist was insistent and grounding, and he let it tug him around the outskirts of the hall.

 

Away from the people he hadn't helped.

 

Toward the back of the hall

 

He'd forgotten about the side exit. 

 

At the back of the hall the mayor was gesturing wildly, doing his best to funnel out the few remaining, propping open the door with his hip. Bessie kept one of the snarling creatures at bay with a chair in a faux liontaming act. 

 

Sportacus didn't startle when a figure almost slammed into him. The creature hit the wall, snarling as it came for him again.

 

He caught it by the arm and pulled it into the path of another, sending both sprawling in a angry heap. Another was scurrying over the seating on his left, and he turned to see Robbie kick the last chair of the line. The creature stepped down, trapping its leg through the backrest and seat, and went sprawling away.

 

The two men were was the last out.

 

Sportacus had the firedoor halfway closed when a thunder of bodies slammed it shut from the other side. 

 

They pounded against the metal

 

Sportacus reached out to the fleeing survivors, brushing an arm of a woman he knew by face than name, but not daring to grasp. He managed half a panicked 'wait' as the last vanished from sight.

 

One thing at a time

 

It left himself, Milford, Bessie and Robbie. It was a wordless exchange, the four of them moving the stone throw of a distance between the hall and the mayors bungalow. 

 

The doors were locked and all curtains drawn. 

 

And when he turned, Robbie seemed ready for him. Not looking like he was about to mince words.

 

It was an effort not to sigh. 

 

"Your shoulder, It looks like dislocated"

 

"I'm fine"

 

He was clearly not fine. He was hunched, shaking and his nervous tic going haywire. 

 

The whole situation would be easier without the audience, and Sportacus was grateful when the two remaining adults read the room and silently excused themselves to the kitchen. 

 

'Robbie, It's going to be harder to fix the longer you leave it'

 

Sportacus was confident. Least he hoped it looked so. He had basic first aid training and, being sports orientated, dealt with this kind of injury twice before. The knowledge was enough to steady his voice enough to project a false calm when he asked the other to lay flat.

 

The request got a grumble but was otherwise fulfilled. Robbie used the wall to lower himself to the hardwood floor. One shoulder hiked up to his ear, knees drawn up.

 

The hero was pensive, he didn't dare draw closer. "Robbie, I'm sor-" Sportacus winced, letting his words trailed off at the others dramatic huff.

 

"Your like a broken record" Robbie grumbled, rolling his eyes. Sportacus watched the man animate his words with one arm. "In the townhall. It's all you were saying. You were basically chanting 'sorry'. I thought you'd broke or something"

 

"I was?"

 

He didn't remember. In fact he was trying to ignore the situation for the moment. But he was sure, back in the hall, they weren't directed at Robbie. 

 

The man seemed to notice the elfs distress. The far away look, a mournful darkness. A heavy, rueful thing tainting the normally bright eyes and, what he had thought, constant joviality.

 

He hated it.

 

"Yes, well- stop it." Robbie said. Not a master with these situations.

 

Vague. There was bigger concerns. None of them voiced it. And a comfortable silence followed. Interrupted by  a soft cough, sportacus wanting to announce his movements as he approached and settled on his knees.

 

He took Robbie wrist and reached for the man's shoulder, managing a tentative prod, gleaning a brief insight to the warped extent of the injury, when a choked gasp had him release all hold and spring back; the villain flinching so hard he rolled onto his side, hissing a muffled curse to the floor.

 

The apology slipped from him before he could catch it on a sharp inhale, but Robbie gave a halfhearted 'what did I say' and it was left at that.

 

Sportacus sat back for a moment, let Robbie ride out the pain, and once he stilled, encouraged him to lay flat with a gentle palm to the chest.

 

Robbie settled with his face set in a grim line. And Sportacus was sympathetic. Partly for the pain, but mostly for his role in the injury. 

 

"Just get it over with"

 

Sportacus took the others wrist again, straightened and extended the arm slowly but firmly, his other hand massaging the shoulder, working into the tension, encouraging the joint into place. Robbie squirmed against the hold, whimpering. His head was turned away and tucked into his shoulder, good arm thrown over his face to hide the tears that Sportacus, for the others sake, was dead set on pretending not to have seen.

 

He was trying to be gentle but the muscles were working against him.

 

Then the arm went lax. Sportacus took his chance, hoisted the limb, eased the shoulder in his hand forward and then rotated the arm above the villains head. 

 

He both felt and heard the click.

 

The joy was short lived when he realised the villain was blissfully unconscious. It took him a moment, staring at the light dusting of purple of the man's lids.

 

The hero fidgeted. He still needed to check for other breaks. He'd thrown the man pretty hard, and that thought made him sick to the stomach, so he NEEDED to check, if only for peace of mind. 

 

Reasoning it'd be easier with the man unconscious, Sportacus sat him up, curling the injured arm between them before pulling the villain against his chest. He ran a clinical hand over the man's back, along his ribs, thankful for the thin material of the undershirt.

 

He felt the subtle hitch of breath when the probing became too close to the tender shoulder, which he guessed would be thoroughly bruised, but he couldn't feel any other obvious breaks.

 

Sportacus paused his ministrations, wholly expecting to be shoved away, but Robbie remained unconscious, shifting into the hero as he settled. He sighed in his sleep; the warm puff of air brushing over the hero's neck, rustling the stray curls, and Sportacus felt his face warm.

 

Before he could think on it the hero was moving. He hooked his arms under Robbie and effortlessly lifted him up and onto the mayors couch; settling him down, tucking a pillow under his head as the mayor shuffled back into the room, clutching a first aid box and ice pack.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robbie. My dude. You don't creep up on people in the apocalypse. Especially if they can throw you like a javelin.
> 
> Iv not written anything in so long so I hope you enjoyed reading! ;3;


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